A Trip to the Neighborhood Therapist
by FrankandJoe3
Summary: Bruce takes Richard to see a therapist, to determine if his protege has depression or not.


**I've been urged by… Rikku I believe is the name… to write a crossover involving Glee or Percy Jackson. So, DEAR RIKKU, I SEVERELY HATE GLEE WITH EVERY OUNCE OF MY BEING AND EVERY TEAR THAT MY BODY HAS AND EVER WILL HOLD SO I WILL NOT FEATURE A YJ: THE MUSICAL. I LOVE PERCY JACKSON BUT I CANNOT WRITE FOR IT BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW THEIR DIALOGUE IS. IF ANYTHING, I WOULD WRITE AN ED, EDD, N EDDY OR NCIS CROSSOVER, BUT EVEN THOSE ARE HARD FOR ME. IF ANYTHING, I PREFER TO STICK TO USING MYSELF, FrankandJoe3, AS THE OC OR OTHER SHOW. PLEASE DO NOT BE ANGRY. I AM SORRY. –FJ3 **

**Anyway, I need to get this letter out to Rikku and seeing that they do not have an account, this is the best I can do. So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Easter… Now if you mind, I think I have a one shot to type. And to those reading this, quit being so fucking lazy and review the stories you favorite and alert. Nothing pisses me off more than people who will favorite a story, but not review. How hard is it to put a smile or a frown in the review box? How hard is it to say 'it sucked' or 'nice'? Seriously! You're making me feel unloved and only greatening my need for a therapist. Hey… that gives me an idea!**

Richard pulled away from Bruce.

"No, I'm not going," he said quietly, stepping back, having a sudden interest in his Converse.

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

"Richard John Grayson," he snapped.

Richard winced at the use of his whole name and forced himself to look up at his mentor's angry face.

"I'm not giving you a choice. You are going."

Richard set a hand on his neck, refusing to get out of the passenger's seat in the car.

"I am _not_ depressed. I do _not_ need a therapist," he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper, frustrated tears forming in his eyes.

He hated not being able to speak against his mentor. He knew very well the consequences for that and they weren't pleasant. His hands balled into fists at his side and he tore his eyes away from Bruce's again. Bruce sighed, disappoint thick in the air between the two of them.

"You know very well how I feel about doctors and therapists and their privacy issues and their untrustworthiness, but there is no other explanation. I have ran every toxicology scan on you that's possible, I've changed your diet, I've changed the lighting, I've changed your exercise pattern, I've tested you for allergies… Richard, there is no other explanation for these headaches you've been getting. If the therapist says you aren't, then I can take you home and figure out what the hell is wrong with your head, but for now, _you are going in there_," the venom in Bruce's tone was nearly invisible up until the end when it showered him.

Richard's eyebrows furrowed beneath the sunglasses, but unlike the mask, the sunglasses failed to hide his angry eyebrows. Bruce folded his arms across his chest, staring down the boy in his car. Bruce despised taking his nearly adoptive son to people who probed into personal information that he forbade Richard from telling. He honestly hadn't wanted to take Richard here, but he was willing to do anything to stop Richard's mind numbing headaches that he had been getting constantly.

"Come on now, we don't have all day," Bruce urged.

Richard sighed an inaudible gentle sigh and fumbled with his seatbelt. He remained in the seat though, his lips slightly parted as if he actually had the courage to argue.

"Richard," Bruce growled softly.

He closed his lips tightly, pressing his lips hard against each other. He surrendered to his mentor's words and slipped out of his seat, closing the car door hard enough for it to lock properly, but soft enough for it to not make much of a noise.

"Bruce…" he began, his voice a slight whisper on the edge of his lips.

Bruce Wayne put an awkward, but slightly comforting arm around Richard, pulling him close so that his words were heard only by his little boy.

"Your name from here until we're back in my car again is Richard John Wayne. I adopted you three years ago when your mother and father gave you up because they couldn't afford you. You're just an average thirteen year old who attends Gotham Academy. You're a champion Mathlete, you get straight A's and you are not a hero. You do not know Aqualad or Kid Flash, but Miss Martian and Superboy and Artemis all attend your school. You haven't heard from your parents ever since they gave you up for adoption, you have no siblings," Bruce briefed his son.

"What about my big brother?" Richard asked, his stomach quivering with fear.

Bruce blinked in response.

"Got it, I don't know about my siblings. So pretty much, keep everything the same; just get rid of the Circus and the part about me being a super hero. You are just my… father… Bruce Wayne, the owner of Wayne Tech. What about Alfred?"

"You can talk about him. He's just a servant," Bruce approved.

Richard glanced down at the arm on his shoulder. It was a warm and loving arm, one that really seemed to be trying to be affectionate and helpful, but it was as if it didn't know how. Richard didn't blame Batman; Batman hadn't had parents very long either and as far as Richard was concerned, Batman hadn't spoken a word about his love and/or sex life, so he just decided that Batman probably didn't have one. Bruce seemed to be the all work, no play type anyway, and love didn't fit into the equation.

"Do I… Must I do this?" Richard asked, his voice strained as they walked through the doors of the therapist's **[1] **office.

Bruce nodded. "It's for your own…"

His voice trailed off gently as he fought for the correct word.

"Safety?" Richard offered.

Bruce shook his head. "No, you're perfectly capable of being safe on your own… Oh! It's for your own well-being. Yes, that's the word. If you truly do, which I doubt, have depression, than I suppose they can prescribe something to you to stop those headaches."

Richard's fists trembled from being closed so tight, but he tried to relax them to ward off suspicion from others in the waiting room. The room was well furnished with comfortable looking armchairs, two per table. There were seven tables placed around the room, a stack of magazines placed on each one. There was a long counter at the back of the room, behind which a secretary sat, typing away at a keyboard. There was soft red carpeting beneath their feet and warm, open windows illuminated the room. A small touch screen computer rested on the countertop, recommending guests to announce their appearance by signing in.

"Go sign in," Bruce nudged Richard before striding off to the nearest table and taking a seat in one of the armchairs.

Richard watched as his mentor crossed one leg over the other and grabbed a magazine, beginning to casually thumb through it. Richard walked up to the screen.

**Type in your last name:** the screen requested.

Richard's hand moved towards the G for Grayson, but he mentally kicked himself.

_You are Richard Wayne now; please remember that_ he urged himself.

His thinking didn't ease how alien it felt to type Wayne in.

**Welcome Wayne, Richard** the screen now read.

Richard strode over towards his mentor and sat in the chair across from him. He watched Bruce for a little while in half-amazement.

_It's amazing to see how Bruce can evenly separate the line between being a hero and a casual individual. If I wasn't me, I'd think he was just an average, every day human from the way he's acting. _

He reached for one of the magazines, but stopped when he recognized his own face on the front, Batman beside him. He paled and took a magazine from the bottom of the pile, using it to hide the magazine cover. If Bruce noticed the strange behavior, he made no comment about it. He just turned the page of the TV Guide, his eyes scanning the page with a blank face. Richard looked to the table top, placing his arms around his nervous stomach, calmly listening to the rapid beat of his heart. He could feel it in his ears, in his fingers, in his toes. For the first time in his life, Richard John Grayson, now Richard John Wayne, was terrified of something that wouldn't kill him. He finally got to enjoy the wonders that came with being paranoid.

"Richard," a male voice sounded, reminding the blue eyed Boy Wonder of a hospital.

He stood up nervously and made his way to the open door. He felt a hand comfortingly pat his back, but then the comfort was gone and fear took him over.

"Hello Richard, how are you today?" the therapist asked him, leading Richard back to his office.

"F-Fine," Richard squeaked out. "How are you?"

The therapist smiled sweetly, opening the door and gesturing for Richard to walk in. He did and took a seat in the arm chair available in the office. He hugged his knees up to his chest, just so they were off of the ground. The therapist took a seat in the rolly chair by the computer.

"My name is Dr. Thomas Smith, but you can call me Tom," the therapist introduced himself.

"I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick," Richard said softly, resting his chin nervously on his knees. "Most people do."

XxXxX

Richard walked out of the office, pale and nervous, his eyes watery. Bruce walked up to meet him, confused at the boy's state.

"Are you alright?" he asked with just a single glance.

Richard avoided his eyes and sat back down in the arm chair, his eyes distant and distracted behind the sunglasses.

"Mr. Wayne, may I speak with you for a moment?" Thomas asked Bruce.

Bruce nodded curtly and followed the man back into his office. He was surprised with how dark and enclosed it looked to him. He increased his guard, ready to ninja kick the man to the throat if he needed. The man didn't approach Bruce though; he just took a seat and gestured for Bruce to sit.

"No thanks, I'll stand," he dismissed the offer.

Thomas frowned, but he didn't mention it again.

"Your son… he's an interesting piece. I haven't seen many like him," Thomas began, flipping through a notebook he had on his counter.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing.

"He seems to be hiding things. Whenever I'd ask about one subject, he'd change it to another and attempt to distract me. All I got out of it though, mostly through assumption, is a feeling of neglection and abandonment. Are you a single man, Mr. Wayne?" Thomas probed.

Bruce nodded once.

"Maybe he needs a feminine touch of some sort. Have you tried getting in contact with his birth mother?"

Bruce, if he wasn't so well trained, would've stiffened at the mention, but he didn't lose hold of the situation.

"That, I'm afraid, is impossible at the moment. She disappeared two years ago nearly, right off the map."

Thomas frowned. "How disappointing. Well, anyway, if there is any depression in this boy, it has escaped my comprehension. If anything, he is just lacking in things average boys possess, but this is only to be expected when there is nothing to replace what he lacks. What surprises me though, is his ability to keep a straight face through all of what I said. He handles bad news well and is exceedingly brilliant, which is why it's no surprise that he's a Mathlete."

Bruce blinked.

"There is nothing I can prescribe at the moment. I did notice one other thing though. He seems to feel restricted, bound, stuck… the best I can suggest is giving him freedom, or trusting him more. My sincerest apologies."

Bruce nodded simply.

"Thanks," he said and headed out the door, back to the lobby.

He walked past the onlooking people who frowned in distaste at him. He walked over to Richard and set a hand on his shoulder.

"Time to go," he said with just a glance.

Richard nodded and stood up, his hands tight to his side.

"How am I doctor? Do I have the fever?" he whispered in a dramaticised voice.

Bruce didn't smile.

"You don't have it," he told Richard, urging him to hurry along.

Richard smiled weakly.

"Would an 'I told you so' be too much?" he asked.

Bruce just narrowed his eyes.

"Right, too much," he agreed, climbing into the car.

He closed the door after securing his body and hooked his seat belt and turned to face his mentor who took a seat in the car. Bruce had a new expression on his face.

"I-Is something wrong?" Richard asked, confused.

Bruce held tight to the wheel, but he didn't turn on the car.

"Richard…" he said once, but said no more.

Richard frowned, now very confused.

"Yes?"

"Would you… would you like to go visit Kid Flash? I have work to attend to and… and I don't feel right leaving you home with Alfred," Bruce asked him slowly.

Richard felt a grin spread over his face and his eyes widened in surprise.

"R-Really?" he asked, his voice flooded with happiness.

Bruce nodded. "Yes… you deserve the… freedom."

Richard raised an eyebrow at the mention, but he didn't mind. He was back to being Richard John Grayson, and that was perfectly fine for him at the moment.

**[1] When I first typed that, I was tired and I blushed and quickly backspaced it because I thought I had typed 'the rapist's'. Now that I realize it, I'm glad I don't have a therapist.**

**Watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 again. My favorite part is when Ginny and Harry are kissing in the kitchen and Fred [or George, I still can't tell them apart] walks in and sits there, smiling awkwardly. They notice him and stop kissing, embarrassed. He just smiles and says 'Morning', stretching the word. It always causes me to giggle myself silly. Oh, if I could master the arts of Harry Potter, I would so write crossovers to it…**

**-FrankandJoe3**


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